


Dew on Morning Grass

by BloodStainsBlue



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, They get drunk and screw around, This is a drabble-type thing, cw:cheating (mentioned, often
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 02:13:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8185088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodStainsBlue/pseuds/BloodStainsBlue
Summary: He knew this was the kind of thing that you had to talk about--never had either of them stayed until morning, but Clint wanted nothing more than to lick up the trail left by the drop of water that had slid down Pietro’s torso to his hipbone, and as the silverette climbed over him, he knew that he wouldn’t be denied that wish.





	

Cold. Clint groaned, opened his eyes and looked around slowly. There was an empty space next to him, a place where a body had rested earlier and had since retreated. 

Not that he could be surprised. He wasn’t using the boy, but it was easy to see how he would think that. He hadn’t left his wife, after all. But he didn’t see any reason why he couldn’t sneak off occasionally, tell his wife that he was at work when he was actually meeting the silverette in a hotel and taking his fill from the boy. 

It was the same every time. They would meet up and Pietro would always start the same way-- “Couldn’t resist me, Old Man? You should really learn some self-control.”

These taunts would continue until they were up in the room of whatever hotel they had rented this time and a couple of drinks were already in their system.

Red wine. That’s what Pietro had brought this time. Different than the ten dollar bottles of vodka that he usually brought with him. Clint had wanted to ask him how he had managed to afford it, where he’d gotten it, but Pietro had seemed to know before he’d even opened his mouth to ask and had shoved him down, began to force his tongue into his mouth.

Then the question was lost, died down as a moan rose in Clint’s throat, and he dropped the glass that had been in his hand, let it fall down onto the ground below him, staining the cream-colored carpet blood red as he wrapped his hand around Pietro’s throat and pushed him down onto the bed, straddling him and taking charge.

Pietro was always compliant. He let Clint push him down and do with him as he wanted, and that night was no exception. He put up a complementary fight, but even though both of them knew that Pietro could break out of his hold easily, Clint was still able to pin the younger male down effortlessly. He let out a soft mewl as Clint thrust into him, arched his back when Clint’s teeth sunk into his neck, staining his pale skin red. 

They passed out when they’d both finished, Clint lying on his stomach and Pietro on his back, nothing touching except for their linked pinkie fingers, as though not cuddling meant they could pretend that this wasn’t an intimate act.

But as usual, Clint woke up the next morning to see Pietro wasn’t there and felt cold. He wondered if Pietro felt the same way when Clint left first, or if the younger male was better at pretending that this meant nothing. He sat up, let the faux-silk blanket slide off his lap and pool onto the floor.

“Going somewhere, Old Man?” 

Clint jumped, startled at the sound of the younger male, standing at the door, leaning against the frame with a catlike smirk on his young face. Clint’s hearing aid sat on the nightstand beside him--of course he hadn’t heard the shower.

He was going to say ‘yes’, he had to be getting home to his wife and children, but he was silenced by the sight before him. The sunrise outside shone onto the young man, naked and as perfectly carved as a Greek statue, water from his shower sliding down his pale skin, some drops simply resting like dew on morning grass, and Clint shook his head.

He knew this was the kind of thing that you had to talk about--never had either of them stayed until morning, but Clint wanted nothing more than to lick up the trail left by the drop of water that had slid down Pietro’s torso to his hipbone, and as the silverette climbed over him, he knew that he wouldn’t be denied that wish.

“It’s chilly in here,” Pietro whispered, and Clint nodded, sliding his hands up the younger man’s thick thighs. 

“I can fix that.”

**Author's Note:**

> I know this is not that good, but I was tipsy and it was three in the morning so here ya go!


End file.
